The Lilac Booth, Part 2

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Welcome to bedtime stories for everyone,

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Our story tonight is called The Lilac Booth, Part 2.

And it's a story about a lovely spring day at the farmer's market.

and the sweet smell of a favorite flower.

It's also about street food and sunshine, memories pulled forward by a breath of perfume, crumpled dollar bills,

and the kind of beauty that can sit on your windowsill.

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Okay,

lights out.

Set everything down.

The stuff in your hands

and the stuff on your mind.

Set it down.

It's okay to.

I'll take the next watch.

Let your body relax into the sheets

and feel how good it is

to be done with today.

Draw a deep breath in through your nose

and sigh.

Again, fill it up

and let it go.

Good.

The lilac booth.

Part two

The market was just starting to get busy

and we were ready.

I took one more look around

to assure myself of that.

Yeah,

we were ready.

I'd been up early before the dew had dried on the grass or the chill had left the air

to clip buckets and buckets full of lilac stems for today.

Me and my small crew of volunteers had snipped for more than an hour,

but still hadn't emptied the bushes that grew all over the patch of land surrounding my farmhouse.

I was glad for that.

There were still more sweet-smelling, mostly purple blooms for the folks that stopped to pick them in the next week or so

before they were gone for another year.

I say mostly purple because

since I'd become the steward of the lilacs,

I'd planted many new varieties,

including yellow and rose-red ones.

We had bright blue and pale pink

and stark white flowers.

They all carried the signature scent of lilac,

which is a deep sweetness,

like a jasmine dipped in honey

slightly powdery

and with just a bit of green and citrus

the van ride on our way to the market

had been so fragrant

I could still smell the flowers on my skin and sweatshirt.

We'd buckled all the pails into the cargo space,

settled in around the boxes of donated vases,

and slowly and carefully bumped our way into town.

The market is a long, low building on the edge of downtown.

Half of it is an open-air space.

Banks of wooden stalls with spaces behind them,

where sellers could pull up and unload their wares.

The other half was enclosed.

A long, wide hall with cracked green tiles on the floor and vendors on either side.

Small tables were also set up here and there,

tucked in beside the entrance,

and and a few running down the sidewalk for smaller home-run businesses and makers.

There was a coffee cart in the parking lot,

an ice cream truck at the curb,

and a few pop-up stands selling empanadas and onigiri

and flavored iced teas.

A woman with a guitar was busking by the row of benches in the sun.

We'd been able to get one of the outdoor spots for today,

and I was glad about it.

The air had warmed a good bit since I'd been picking flowers in the early morning,

and everyone who passed by looked to be enjoying it.

It was like watching a battery charge

or a time-lapse video of a plant after it's been watered.

Faces spread with smiles.

People took deep breaths and shrugged out of their sweaters.

and tied them around their waists.

They lifted their faces to the light,

and weight seemed to lift from their shoulders.

I liked looking out at them

as I arranged lilacs into vases.

We thought about just wrapping the bouquets in newspaper,

tying them with ribbon.

But we guessed many of the flowers sold would be gifted.

And handing someone a bouquet that needs to be recut and arranged

is a bit like gifting someone a chore.

In our vases, they would be ready to set on any table or windowsill, just as they were.

And once I put the word out that I was looking for donated vases,

lots of folks turned out to have way more than we could use.

So we hadn't needed to spend a cent

to upgrade our blooms for our customers.

We'd prepared a few dozen vases and set them out in rows and bunches in our booth.

My helpers were ready with change change in their aprons,

and soon we had our first customers

people who were drawn by the scent.

You could see their faces change

as they breathed in the scent,

the way they were

transported instantly

to some other time and place by the perfume.

Many told us of the lilac tree they'd had in their backyard growing up,

or how it was their aunt's favorite flower,

how those memories had come rushing back

with one breath of the scent.

It was something I'd heard so many times

and knew myself to be true.

By midday we were down to our last three buckets of blooms,

and I was putting together vases of them as fast as I could.

We told customers about my farmhouse in the country,

surrounded by lilac bushes in every direction,

how I'd been a lilac thief,

but was now reformed.

How the money we were raising today

would help the monarch habitat

across from the elementary school.

A few people had been to the farm before,

had seen the signs encouraging them to stop and take home a few stems.

But there were plenty who had never smelled a lilac

and I hoped we were creating a memory for them that they could return to many times.

I swapped jobs with an hour to go

and let someone else handle bundling the stems.

I wrapped one of the aprons around me, noticing that we had indeed raised a good bit of cash already.

As I walked around to the front of the booth to appreciate this little dream that I had brought to life,

I noticed a little girl, ten or eleven,

digging in her pockets for crumpled up dollar bills.

She was counting them out and looking at the vases,

trying to decide if she had enough for the big one in the center of the table.

I called out to the volunteer behind the booth

that since it was almost the end of the day,

we should put everything on sale for half off.

She looked down at the little girl and nodded at me with a wink.

Good call, boss, she said.

The girl handed over her dollars and walked out with the largest vase we had.

Her arms had barely wrapped around it,

and her face poked through the stems.

I knew she might have bought them to gift to a parent or grandparent,

but I sort of hoped

they were all for her,

that she would set them on her bedside table,

and that the perfume of them would work its way into her dreams as she slept.

Yes, it could lead her to a life of crime.

A life like my own,

the life of a lilac thief.

But I thought the world needed more of us,

more people,

driven by a love for beautiful things.

The Lilac Booth

Part two

The market

was just starting to get busy

And

we were ready

I took one more look around

to assure myself of that

Yeah

we were ready

I'd been up early

before the dew had dried on the grass

or the chill had left the air

to clip buckets and buckets full of lilac stems for today.

Me and my small crew of volunteers

had snipped snipped for more than an hour,

but still hadn't emptied the bushes

that grew all over the patch of land

surrounding my old farmhouse.

I was glad for that.

There were still more sweet-smelling, mostly purple blooms

for the folks that stopped to pick them

in the next week or so

before they were gone for another year

I say

mostly purple

because

since I'd become

the steward of the lilacs

I'd planted many new varieties

including yellow and rose red ones.

We had bright blue

and pale pink

and stark white flowers.

They all carried the signature scent of lilac,

which was a deep sweetness,

like a jasmine dipped in honey,

slightly powdery,

and with just a bit

of green and citrus.

The van ride on our way to the market had been so fragrant

I could still smell the flowers on my skin and sweatshirt.

We'd buckled all the pails

into our cargo space,

settled in around the boxes

of donated vases,

and slowly and carefully

bumped our way into town.

The market is a long,

low building

on the edge of downtown.

Half of it is an open air space.

Banks of wooden stalls with spaces behind them

where sellers could pull up

and unload their wares.

The other half was enclosed,

a long, wide hall

with cracked green tiles on the floor

and vendors on either side.

Small tables were also set up here and there,

tucked in beside the entrance,

and a few running down the sidewalk

for smaller, home-run businesses and makers.

There was a coffee cart in the parking lot,

an ice cream truck at the curb,

and a few pop up stands selling empanadas and onigiri,

and flavored iced teas.

A woman with the guitar

was busking by the row of benches in the sun.

We'd been able to get one of the outdoor spots for to

and I was glad about it.

The air had warmed a good bit

since I'd been picking flowers in the early morning,

and everyone who passed by

looked to be enjoying it.

It was like watching a battery charge

or a time-lapse video

of a plant

after it's been watered.

Faces spread with smiles.

People took deep breaths

and shrugged out of their sweaters

and tied them around their waists.

They lifted their faces to the light

and weight seemed to lift from their shoulders.

I liked looking out at them

as I arranged lilacs into vases.

We thought about just wrapping the bouquets in newspaper,

tying them with ribbon.

But we guessed many of the flowers we sold

would be gifted

and handing someone a bouquet

that needs to be recut and arranged

is a bit like

gifting someone a chore.

In our vases they would be ready to set

on any table or windowsill

just as they were.

And once I put the word out

that I was looking for donated vases,

lots of folks turned out to have way more

than they could use.

So we hadn't needed to spend a cent

to upgrade our blooms for our customers.

We'd prepared a few dozen vases

and set them out in rows

and bunches in our booth.

My helpers were ready with change in their aprons

And soon we had our first customers

People who were drawn by the smell.

You could see their faces change

as they breathed in the scent.

The way they were transported instantly

to some other time and place by the perfume.

many told us of the lilac tree they'd had in their backyard growing up,

or how this was their aunt's favorite flower,

how those memories had come rushing back

with one breath of the scent.

It was something I'd heard so many times, and knew myself to be true.

By midday,

we were down to our last three buckets of blooms,

and I was putting together vases of them as fast as I could.

We told customers about my farmhouse in the country,

surrounded by lilac bushes in every direction.

How I'd been a lilac thief,

but was now reformed.

How the money we were raising today

would help the monarch habitat

across from the elementary school.

A few people had been to the farm before,

had seen the signs, encouraging them to stop,

and take home a few stems.

But there were plenty who never smelled a lilac,

and I hoped

we were creating a memory for them

that they could return to many times.

I swapped jobs with an hour to go

and let someone else handle bundling the stems.

I wrapped one of the aprons around me,

noticing that we had indeed

raised a good bit of cash already.

As I walked around to the front of the booth

to appreciate this dream

that I had brought to life,

I noticed a little girl,

ten or eleven,

digging in her pockets

for crumpled-up dollar bills.

She was counting them out

and looking at the vases,

trying to decide if she had enough for the big one in the center of the table.

I called out to the volunteer behind the booth

that since it was almost the end of the day

We should put everything on sale for half off

She looked down at the little girl and nodded at me with a wink

Good call boss

She said

The girl handed over her dollars

and walked out with the largest vase we had

Her arms had barely wrapped around it,

and her face poked through the stems.

I knew she might have bought them to gift a parent or grandparent,

but I sort of hoped they were all for her

that she would set them on her bedside table,

and that the perfume of them

would work its way into her dreams as she slept.

Yes, it could lead her to a life of crime,

a life like my own,

the life of a lilac thief.

But I thought the world

needed more of us,

more

people

driven

by a love

for beautiful things.

Sweet dreams.